reflection

When I was growing up, I wanted to be exactly like my Grandma.

She made excellent pies, the best hot sausage soup I've ever tasted and could knit, crochet and needlepoint with the best of them.

More importantly, she loved to read.

Especially about the civil war.

I remember being so excited as a 7th grader to take the civil war class offered at the local high school, just so I could talk about class readings and discussions with her. Unfortunately, she got extremely ill the following year, spent many years fighting death and passed away before we ever got a chance to discuss those battles and their famous generals. She planned our annual vacation one summer and for a week in mid-July, we circled the Commonwealth of Virginia exploring sites important to the development of our nation and landmarks made famous by America's bloodiest war. I think she based the trip around one excursion: our day long drive to see the burial site of Stonewall Jackson's arm. While my mom has claimed her extensive collection of Civil War books, I am already looking forward to the day I add them to my bookshelf. I never took that Civil War class. We never had those discussions. But if I remember my grandma well enough, I know to expect underlined phrases, scribbled notes in the margins and a list within each of other authors to pursue.

I imagine receiving these books will make me feel similar to the way I felt when I brought all of her cookie cutters and many old and well-used recipes and cookbooks back to Virginia after our wedding. I'd been longing for a great chocolate chip cookie recipe, and in the middle of our favorite cookbook I found the notation "Jessie really loves these" next to that famous double chocolate chip cookie recipe. Just seeing it reminded me of spending countless afternoons in a flour covered apron, making dozens of cookies to share with family, friends, neighbors and the guys my grandpa always talked about. And seeing her beautiful handwriting, that made my day.

I'm sure anyone who has ever lost anyone close to them can understand how much little things start to mean. Four words in the middle of cookbook don't mean much, usually. But in the right handwriting, those four words mean everything. I know a lot of people who love apple pie. I'm always left a little unsatisfied with it these days. It isn't hers.

I've learned a lot in the five years since my grandma passed away. I've graduated, twice. Moved away from home. Gotten married to a wonderful man. Each of these transitions has been a bit bittersweet. There was always someone missing from the crowd. It seems like everyone else has moved on and gotten past that cold day in January 2002. It still eats away at me. I lost my best friend when I was only 12. She passed away when I was just 15. In the aftermath of this tragedy, I welcomed a great relationship with my grandpa, one I wouldn't trade for the world. He understood what it was like to lose someone who had such a direct involvement in everything you did. He knew what it was like to lose a parent-figure in your life and look around thinking, what do I do now? how do I pick up these pieces? He understood how nothing seemed like it would ever go back together. And he understands, to this day, how some things never will.

He understand what it feels like to miss someone every day of your life.

Grandma's Senior Portrait.
Wasn't she beautiful?

Grandma at Jenny's Wedding.
July 1994.